Mores Bruja
by Sqully
Summary: [Die Witch]No MSR, just MiSA) A missing young woman raises suspicion when no leads come up rnand the kidnapping resembles one from 1692, in Salem, Mass . . . will they find her in time?
1. Prologue: The Burning

Mores Bruja (Die Witch)

Prologue

Disclaimer: Chris Carter owns them, not I, unfortunately . . .

Salem, Mass

October 30th 1692

"Please don't, please don't!" The young woman moaned as he neared her.

"No, no, no, NO! Stop!" She screamed, struggling against the thick rope binding her wrists to the wooden post. His tall silhouette stands out in the night with a torch bared by his right hand; the other hand holding something down that she cannot see. The tears running down her cheeks are slightly blurring her vision as he takes another step closer.

She can hear him muttering to himself as he takes another step. He's either praying or chanting something, whatever it is, it's not English. The darkness pulls on her as she weakly turns her head to the right, her lips quivering with exhaustion, coldness, and fear, for her life and her unborn child. Her ragged under dress moves slightly with the frigid wind; the terror of what's happening finally sinking in as he is about a foot away from her.

"How could you? How could you?" He makes no sign that he heard her as his arm slowly begins to rise. She gulps as he finally raises his head to reveal bloodshot eyes and a gaunt, expressionless face.

"Mores bruja . . . mores bruja . . . mores bruja. . . "His chanting continues as his arm rises. She struggles to find her voice as his arm stops at the torch, where she can see a small stick, which he lights on fire. She then watches almost in slow motion as he drops it onto the hay and branches piled around her. The flames lick at her feet and began spreading as he slowly backs up, his head lowering once again.

As the darkness envelopes his retreating figure, one last scream is heard in the cold autumn night.

"I AM NO WITCH!!"

(Theme music starts, Starring David Duchovny and Gillian Anderson)

(A/N: Tell me how it is, should I go on??????? Thankies! R&R)


	2. Chapter One: We are the dead

Mores Bruja

Chapter One: We are the dead

Disclaimer: See chapter one.

All characters in this story have no existence outside of Chris Carter's imagination and have no relation whatsoever to anyone baring the same name or names.

:::::No spoilers:::::

Downtown Washington D.C.

October 25th, 1995

She sniffed as she quickly walked down the stone steps; her high heels clicking in an awkward sound on a couple of leaves, and her dark auburn hair billowing behind her with each step. Goosebumps rose on her bare legs; her velvety black dress barely reaching her knees. The muscles in her left hand began cramping from carrying the small suitcase as she reached the street in front of her apartment building. She tearfully looked both ways down the empty street before crossing, keeping her hurried pace. A window on the fourth floor slams open, revealing a figure with one hand on the window latch.

"Abby!" She quickened her pace at the sound of his voice ripping through the cold air.

"Abby wait! Don't go!" His voice turned from hopeful to desperate. "Stop!" She covered her mouth with her hand as a sob escaped her. She rounded a corner as he left the window. About twenty seconds later he came flying out of the double doors. After jumping the four steps he took off in the direction she was headed.

Still crying and not realizing he was running after her, or that he cared enough to; she turned down an alley and froze when she got to the middle. Her watery eyes are wide, fresh tears cascading down her red puffy cheeks. Silence greets her as a few snow flakes fall down gracefully upon her dark, thick curly hair. She's getting ready to back up and leave, when something stops her. A dark figure is slowly rising from behind a pile of boxes. She tries to remain calm as he or she nears her slowly, head bowed, cloaked. She can neither see any hair nor any of his/her face.

Time stands still as he gradually raises his head, she barely catches a glimpse of it before there's a blur of red and everything goes black and cold.

Panting, the young man rounds a sharp turn, narrowly avoiding a light post, before coming to a stop at the entrance to the alley. The pitch darkness barely reveals the emptiness, causing him to sigh deeply and choppy. Tears sting his sharp green eyes but he refuses to let them fall.

"Damnit Abby, where are you?" He runs both hands through his frazzled curly hair in mid sentence. Giving up after a few minutes of looking around the alley, for what exactly he's not sure, he bites his lip, and returns to his apartment in silent agony. As he exits, two dark gray eyes slowly blink.

FBI Headquarters

Washington D.C.

October 27th, two days later.

"No Mom, I'm staying home . . . I don't think so, I just want to sit at home with some hot chocolate and a good book, hoping to god that Mulder doesn't find a house being haunted by the Adams Family . . ." She looked over to him with a grin as he stared at her and mouthed sarcastically 'Thank you' with a tilt of his head. "Alright Mom, talk you later." Agent Dana Scully hung up her cell phone as she reached her desk. She plopped down on her chair; causing a loud creaking noise, catching the other occupants attention. Agent Fox Mulder, without glancing up, chuckled. She raised her thin eyebrows as she clicked her computer on.

"Problem?" He grinned and leaned back in his chair.

"Sounds like a fun, lets partA all night and get plastered, Halloween you have planned for yourself." She rolled her eyes before eyeing his desk, where a manila folder lay open.

"What do you have?" He stands up and strides over to his ever present projector, and clicks it on. With the light shining on the wall, there's a picture of a young woman on a porch, her curly, most likely natural, dark chocolate hair frozen in mid blow across her beautiful, fair skinned face; happiness dancing in her olive orbs, her smile seeming to brighten up the picture. Scully stares at her a moment later, before turning to Mulder.

"What happened to her?" He sighed and walked over to her and leaned on her desk beside her.

"Her name is Abigail Chitwe. She's missing; her roommate called it in when she never returned the following morning to get ready for school like she always does when she spends the night at her boyfriends house." Scully meets his eyes with hers.

"What did boyfriend say?" Mulder smiles.

"Nothing yet. Pack you lunch, we're going downtown."

1413 Basder St.

Apartment Building #C16

Downtown D.C.

The drive was silent most of they way, both content in each others presence. Upon reaching their destination, they exited the car and started up the icy steps. Wearing heels and having a slightly sprained ankle already, Scully grabbed Mulder's arm until they reached the top. After buzzing apartment number three, they only had to wait a few seconds before a young voice asked who it is.

"It's the FBI, can we come in and ask you a few questions?" The young man gulped, and leaned heavily against the wall while pressing the button to let them in.

Of course Mulder, being the gentleman, holds the door for Scully, before following.

He knocks two times, and waits patiently next to his partner. The dead bolt is slowly removed and the chain pulled off, then the bottom lock is unlocked. The opened door reveals a pale young man clad in faded blue jeans and a black t-shirt, his once bright sea green eyes fading, and light coffee colored, curly locks. He gulps before introducing himself.

"Dave Dite(DIE-TY)." He shakes hands with them, learning their names as well. They stand in silence for a few moments, and he finally gasped.

"I'm so sorry, please come in." Standing back, he lets them in, then closes the door behind them. His nervous eyes dance as he sits across from them on a chair, the agents on a small couch. He's clenching and unclenching his sweaty hands, and Scully glanced briefly at Mulder, before he began speaking.

"Mr. Dite, where were you the night of the 25th?" He did a sharp intake of breath and slowly let it out.

"Uh, um, th-the 25th?" Mulder nodded.

"Were you home?" He nodded shakily. Mulder continued.

"Were you with Abigail Chitwe?" His eyes widen in fright, but he hid it by standing up and facing the window.

"Mr. Dite?" Scully's voice barely reached his ears; he closes his eyes.

"Yes." His whisper died, so Mulder stood up.

"What time did she leave?"

"A-ab-about ten, no eleven, uh," His mouth moves without words, "Ten thirty, I think." His stammer made the agents eye each other suspiciously.

"She left, and I went to bed." He turns around. "Why do you want to know?"

"No one has notified you Mr. Dite?" He shook his head, blinking rapidly.

"She was reported missing two days ago, not officially till yesterday." For a second, they thought he might start crying but he kept it in.

"I have to go to work, I-I'm sorry." They nodded and headed to the door.

"One more question," He turned to Mulder, "How long have you been going out with Ms. Chitwe?" He stood with and almost wistful look in his eyes.

"Two and a half years." His voice became a small, sad whisper. "I was going to propose to her."

"You must have some sort of reason for investigating a missing persons case right?" Scully asked him as she reached for the door handle. Mulder grinned.

"Of course, don't I always?" She groaned as she got into the car. She situated her self then turned to him as he pulled out.

"So what's your interest in this?" He remained silent until they got onto the highway.

"Well, for starters, what holiday is coming up?"

"Thanksgiving?" She tried hopefully. He chuckled.

"Nope, Ha-"

"Don't say it." She warned, but he only grinned evilly.

"Halloween. The greatest and above all funnest holiday ever invented." She rolled her eyes and pinched the bridge of her nose with her thumb and forefinger. He closed his mouth and stared out the windshield at traffic until she cracked.

"Spill it."

"You just cannot resist me can you?" She shot him a glare.

"Just tell me." He nodded and began. He cleared his throat arrogantly.

"October 25th, 1692, a young woman is kidnapped in the small town of Salem, Massachusetts. She is missing for six days, and on October 31st, her body is found in a ditch." He pauses to look over at her.

"Burned to a crisp." She stares at him in disbelief.

"Please tell me you're kidding." Another grin spread across his face.

"Nope, would I play you like that?" She shot him a skeptic look before lapsing into silence. They neared headquarters and she glanced at him; he has that look on his face. He's in deep thought about something. Scully didn't want to interrupt that, but she's too curious.

"So . . . ." He doesn't move. She sighs. "Mulder!"

"Yeah?"

"So you think this might be a copycat killer?" Without hesitation he answered.

"Yes I do, sorta. It fits it perfectly." She thinks for a moment.

"Sorta? You don't think it's the boyfriend?"

"No, even though he was acting really nervous, he doesn't seem the type, but I won't exclude him just yet." Scully sighed.

"You never do."

The rest of the day was spent in a meeting with a dozen other agents including A.D. Skinner. About two hours in, Scully was leaning back in her chair, completely zoned out, when Skinner's secretary's voice snapped her back.

"Agent Scully, you have a phone call." She met Mulder's curious eyes before standing and avoiding the Assistant Director's hard ones.

"Excuse me." After gently closing the door behind her, she walked over to the phone on the wall.

"Line three Miss Scully." She nodded her thanks, and picked it up.

"Agent Scully."

"Agent Scully, this is Special Agent Blad with the VCS, are you and Agent Mulder working the kidnapping of . . . Abigail Chitwe?" Confused, she answered.

"Yes, why?"

"Well, today we accidentally got a letter for you, I don't quite understand how, but it is a postcard with a landscape on the front and writing on the back. No return address." Pause.

"What does it say?"

"Dear Dana, you're going to try and find her but you never will. So give up while watching the sunset glow. We are the dead." She stared at the wall for a second.

"Can you have that sent to my office, in an envelope, I don't want to raise any alarm."

"Sure thing Agent Scully. And if you need any help, give me a call." She smiled, "Thank you." She set the phone down; and turned around and stepped back into the room, Skinner's office. She avoided Mulder's probing eyes, and proceeded to her chair. As the agent across from her begun speaking, she spaced out again, her mind wandering back to the case. There's something fishy about the boyfriends story, he seemed so nervous, bu not about the murder, just about that night, something happened, she's sure of it. While Skinner was in the middle of talking, his phone began ringing. Irritated and on the verge of killing someone, he rigidly walked over to his desk and picked it up. As he began speaking, Scully leaned over to Mulder, who in turn leaned over as well.

"Who was on the phone?" But Skinner slamming the phone down cut her off.

"This meeting is adjourned, I have other important business to attend to." With that, the agents pushed their chairs back and stood up, almost simultaneously. Mulder walked beside Scully, one hand on her lower back.

She kept her mouth shut until they reached their basement office. She turned around to face him, but her pone began ringing. Growling, she walked over to it and picked it up.

"Hello?" She snapped.

"Agent Scully?" The voice is deep, low.

"Who is this?" As the person sighs deeply, she turns around to Mulder, whose eyebrows are furrowed.

"No one of importance, I'm sure." She swallows hard.

"What do you want?" Mulder takes a step forward.

"They're in a dark place, she cannot see anything."

"Who?!" Her only response was the dial tone. Confused, she slowly set it down. Mulder approached her, eyes serious.

"Who was it?"

"I have no idea."

"No lloras chica poco, no lloras." She closed her eyes with a shudder; her stringy hair falling into her face. So cold, it's so cold. A shiver ran down her spine as a cold, clammy finger touched her chin. Shuddering again, she jerked backward into the stone wall behind her.

"Please . . . I'm so cold." He cupped the side of her face and gently stroked her cheek with his thumb. More tears welled up in her eyes as they slowly closed.

"Please . . ." Her sob went unheeded by him as his hand moved through her hair.

"Luego chica poco, muy luego . . ."

"There's nothing to go on Mulder! We don't know where she disappeared from, and all we have is a shattered boyfriend telling us she left and never came back!" Mulder sighed, but stayed quiet. Finally, he spoke calmly.

"There's something fishy about his story, he's hiding something." Scully nodded.

"Are we going back then?" He nodded slowly.

"I also want to inspect the area around the apartment."

"Why?"

"I don't think she got too far before she was taken."

"What makes you think that?" Scully asked as she leaned forward in the chair.

"Just call it a hunch." She fought to roll her eyes, and stood up. Mulder followed her to the door. Then said softly in her ear. "Did you pack an umbrella?" She raised her eyebrows.

"Why?"

Thunder cracked, sending a downpour onto their car. Scully sighed, leaning back in the passenger seat. She looked over to him, then in front of her.

"Can you even see where you're going?" Mulder sighed as the windshield-wipers pump furiously, barely making a difference.

"I can see enough." He finally said, causing her to gently massage her temple with two fingers while muttering, "That comforts me." About five minutes later they were parking about a block from the apartment do to 'no parking' signs, and were walking up the apartment. Someone was walking out so they used the open door to their advantage and walked inside, glad to be out of the cold. Scully reached the door first and rapped sharply three times with her knuckles.

"Mr. Dite?" Nothing, not even any movement from inside. Mulder sighed, and Scully knocked again.

"Where do you think he is?" Mulder chewed on the question before turning around towards the staircase.

"Maybe he's at a bar, we can check around some local ones." She nodded before following him down the rickety old staircase. Scully stuck her hands in her pockets as they neared their car, but Mulder paused, so she stopped and turned around to stare at him.

"Come on Mulder, I'm freezing." Not getting an answer, she took a step forward and stood next to him, trying to figure out what he was staring at. Her eyes strayed across the street where an old man swept right outside a small shop. Mulder strode across the street with a reluctant partner, and stood before the man. Balding with thinning white hair sticking out behind his ears, he's wearing a white collared shirt with a black vest and black, loose slacks. Still moving the worn out broom back and forth on the tattered cement, he looks up to them, hunched over.

"I'm closed for the day, come back tomorrow."

"Actually, we'd like to ask you a few questions concerning the night of the 25th." Mulder said, his breath fogging up in front of his face. The man continued sweeping.

"Whose askin'?" He asked gruffly. Scully raised her eyebrows as Mulder pulled his badge out of his coat pocket.

"FBI." The man stopped and looked up with curious, tired eyes. He clicked his tongue while holding the broom handle in front of him with both hands on top.

"Well, well, well. FBI agents, that ought to be a first." He squinted as Mulder returned his badge and tucked his hands inside his coat. The man licked his parted lips.

"What kinda question you be askin' then?" Scully swallowed, waiting for Mulder.

"Were you here the night of the 25th?" He nodded, thinking.

"I'm here every night 'cept for Sundays. Why?" Mulder silently debated how much information he should divulge.

"A young women went missing, last seen by her boyfriend, who lives in the apartment across the street. Did you see anything suspicious?" The man tilted his head up, jutting his lips out in thought.

"Now that I think of it, a young women came flyin' outta there at 'bout midnight, I remember cuz I was working late on something."

"Did you see where she went or if anyone followed her?" He nodded, scratching the back of his head with his right hand.

"Yup, she went into that alley right there." He pointed to the dark space about fifty feet from the group and continued talking as the agents looked over their shoulders.

"There was some yelling fromma windah and she juss kept on walking right into that alley there, then that man came out of the same building, and followed her in there." Mulder turned back around, unlike Scully who had fully faced the alley.

"Did he come out with her?"

"Nope, he came out alone a few minutes later, mutterin' to himself. I walked over to see, but the alley was empty after he left." Scully, not waiting to hear the rest of the mans story, began walking over to the alley, and Mulder watched her disappear. He turned back to the man.

"Thank you very much, we appreciate it. If you remember anything else, here's my card." After handing it to the man, he quickly entered the alley, wary of her being in there by herself. She looked around, but saw nothing. Looking down, all she can see is old newspapers and trash. Lifting her head she continued, listening to Mulder's footsteps. Something caught her eye so she bent down and ran her finger down the wall, then pulled away standing up. Blood, dried blood.

"What did you find?"

"Blood, we need to get this analyzed." He nodded, and they searched around but they found nothing else of importance.

(A/N: I know, this was meant to be a Halloween story, still is, but it's already Christmas, grrr. I just finished this chapter, hope you like it! Please review!)


	3. Chapter Two: By the Fire

Mores Bruja

Chapter Two: **By the Fire**

Disclaimer: See last chapter

:No spoilers:

!PLEASE MAKE SURE YOU PAY ATTENTION TO DATES!

October 29, 1692

Unknown location

He had planned on taking her out today, but it rained. He hated the rain, the rain ruined everything. The raid could douse the fire, and he could not have that happen. He would have to wait. And wait he shall, for the precise moment. He grabbed another sheet of parchment, and a pen. He carefully dipped it in the small bottle of ink, then began writing. The light from the candles casting odd shapes on the opposite wall.

It will happen tomorrow night, at midnight. I will take her to the field and tie her to the post using the old rope from the wagon. The blaze will light up the dark, bleak sky. They will try and rescue her, but will be too late. Too late to save their only daughter, what a shame that will be. I wish I could see the look on is face when they find out that she's pregnant. Of course, with no way of knowing the baby was his. They don't understand, that baby cannot live. It has to die, that . . . thing has got to die. And if she has to die with her child, then so be it . . . tomorrow . . . the field will glow with the sound of death October 29, 1692

October 27th 1995

11:35pm

Scully's apartment

She locked the door and put the chain on. The rain hammering the window mercilessly. Hanging up her soaked coat on the hook beside the door, she toes off her high heels. Walking into the kitchen, she grabs the tea kettle, fills it with water, then sets it on the stove. After turning the knob high enough to boil, she wandered to her white cordless phone and hit the flashing button.

"Five new messages. First message received at 7:36pm . . . beeeeeeeeep." Silence, click. This made her roll azure eyes as she falls onto the over-stuffed chair.

"Second message, received at 9:05pm . . . beeeeeeeeep. Hello Dana, this is Mrs. Willow from downstairs, I was wondering if you could help me pick out a color fabric for a quilt I'm making you for you birthday. Call me." Scully chuckled while browsing uninterested through the muted channels on her medium sized TV set.

"Third message received at 10:36pm . . . beeeeeeeeep." There's a silence for about five seconds, then the click. Hair now pulled back in a messy pony tail, she walks past the machine into the kitchen as the whistle goes off, signaling that her water is done.

"Fourth message, received at 11:26pm . . . beeeeeeeeep. Hey Scully, I guess you're not home yet. I know this sounds desperate and cliché, but I'm lonely . . . you know one is the loneliest number . . . sorry, I'm not quite sure where that came from, anyways . . ." She snorts as she places the tea bag in the mug. "Do you realize I always end up leaving you a long drawn out message where I'm rambling like an idiot?" Pause, her eyebrows rise slowly. ". . . like now huh? Oh well, I'll shut up now seeya." She smiles, taking a sip of tea.

"Fifth message, received at 11:45pm . . . beeeeeeeeep." Her eyebrows furrow, that meant the person called while I'll was listening to . . .

" . . . you know one is the loneliest number . . . sorry, I'm not quite sure where that came from, anyways . . . snort Do you realize I always end up leaving you a long drawn out message where I'm rambling like an idiot? Like now huh? Oh well, I'll shut up now, seeya . . .click." Her eyes are wide as she backs into the counter, realizing too late that she's dropping her mug until it has shattered at her feet. Whipping out her gun, not having removed her holster like usual, she stands still. Completely still, shaking.

I'm shaking, I can't believe I'm shaking. Come on, I can handle this. Maybe . . .

Mulder was just relaxing against his couch as the phone rings. Sighting in defeat of his need for quietness, he reaches over and picks it up.

"Mulder." Nothing.

"Hello?" Then her timid voice.

"Mulder, I need help."

He barely manages to miss the car parked adjacent to hers as he races into her parking lot. Getting out, and taking out his gun, he sprints into her building. She can barely move, and cannot believe she is this scared, and that she called Mulder sounding _that_ pitiful. 'Wimp!' She scolds herself. Jeez, can't even take care of a psychotic maniac who has broken into you apartment. Horrible, just hor-what was that? She inches closer to her bedroom door, about to push it open, her hand poised to push when something moved behind her. Before thinking rationally, she's spinning around, and hits the figure in the arm with her gun. About to ask just what the hell are you doing, she hears a groan followed by a voice.

"Damn Scully, what's your gun made out of, bricks?" Eyes widen in horror at what she just did.

He carefully eases the ice pack to the forming bruise as he peers at her in the dim light her desk lamp provides. Even though they searched her apartment, she still feels shaken. And the feeling doesn't plan on leaving for a while. Mulder can tell, she's pale, really pale, and is trying to act like she isn't. It doesn't fool him one bit.

"Scully? You okay?" She meets his eyes. Yep, she's shaken all right.

"Of course, why wouldn't I be?" He just stares at her.

"Because when you called me, it sounded like Freddy Krueger and Chucky teamed up with Barney and were threatening to sing a melody of the Barney, Sesame Street and the Teletubbie song." Scully's turn to stare.

"You were scared to hell." He clarifies. She clears her throat, then looks down in shame.

"I didn't even know why, but I was so frightened." Mulder, shocked that she had confessed _feelings _that she had been in fact afraid, kneels down in front of her, and gently takes both her hands in his.

"Hey, look at me." His red-haired partner closes her eyes for a second, then looks up into his concerned-bright green ones.

"It's okay, shit, I would have peed my pants." She smiles shyly, but seems a little relieved. He stands up and pulls her with him.

"Come here." Under normal circumstances, she would have declined, but she didn't right now, because she needs some comfort. Inhaling deeply, Scully wraps her arms around his middle, Mulder's arms around her back. Feeling so much better and safe, and warm, she closes her light azure eyes. Thunder booms causing her to jump. He just holds her tighter, so she relaxes again. They stay this way for several minutes, until lightning cracks outside the window. She raises her head off his chest to gaze at him.

"Mulder, can I-"

"-stay over, sure." With a gulp, she buries her face again in his jacket, that smells like rain.

Unknown location

Same night, the 27th

Her once lively hair hangs ever limply to her slumping shoulders as she leans against the hard, damp wall. The bounce that was once in her curly locks is gone, along with the spark that was always present in her eyes. Eyes closed, she slowly strokes her soon to be protruding stomach while humming lowly. She has no idea how long she has been here. All she remembers is being attacked in that alley, then waking up here. Finally, without any more tears to be shed, she just sits, stroking, dreaming. She has already accepted death, knowing it will probably be inevitable. The man, her abductor, has only shown himself to her a total of three times; once for food and water, next just to stare at her, and the last time, when he touched her. Shuddering at the thought, she stops her movement to listen. The floor boards above her are creaking, she must be in a basement. Gathering some courage, she slowly and shakily stands. About to inspect the room she stops as a door near the end opens. She quickly sits back down, trying to resume the position she was in.

His footsteps get closer gradually, and she can feel herself shaking, sinking back against the wall. He reaches her, and she can make out the outline of his body in the darkness. He pauses, before resuming his agonizingly slow pace. She weakly pulls her shirt down and pushes herself backwards, although there is no space left to move into. Gulping, she freezes as he stops, inches from her. Silence ensues as he slowly squats down, staring at her through the darkness; a darkness that she cannot see through enough to make out his face. She stares at him for a few seconds when she suddenly feels something on her stomach, a hand. She jerks looking down at his hand. He recoils, his voice finally breaking into her.

"It's a girl." Her mouth opens and she coughs dryly.

"Ho-how do you know that?" He eyes her critically, not moving.

"It tis the reason." Her forehead crinkles as she squints.

"What is?" Her whisper dies as it reaches him. He slowly stands, hovering over her cowering figure.

"You shall know soon enough, chico poco. Luego . . . ." Her eyes close as he retreats, the door finally slams shut and she's left alone, well, not completely alone. Ignoring the tears running down her cheeks, she tilts her head down to look sadly down at her stomach.

"It's going to be okay Margaret Asha, it's going to be okay." She smiles as another cough escapes her, and she leans back against the wall, succumbing to her exhausted body. Two dark gray eyes slowly blink as her chest rises and falls in shaky breaths.

FBI Headquarters

Washington D.C.

October 28th, the next day.

Scully leans back in her chair, staring at the front of the postcard, thinking. There's something about it that she just can't figure out. She twists it around and reads the note for about the hundredth time.

"There's something . . ." She trails off, looking up as Mulder enters with their dinner. She has already looked back and began studying it again by the time Mulder could even set the food down. Sighing, he walks over to her and squats down next to her chair. She doesn't move.

"Scully?" She tiredly looks over to him and she seems kinda out of it to him.

"You need to eat something." She nods and sets the postcard down. He stands up to retrieve her food, and brings it over, along with his chair so he can sit opposite her. They eat in silence for about ten minutes, until he finally finishes his sandwich and toss the wrapper away.

"What do you think it means?" She leans back with a deep sigh, the rest of her salad forgotten. She's about to shake her head when it hits her, and her eyes light up.

"What?" Mulder asks worriedly, leaning forward. She flips the lamp on next to her and leans forward holding the postcard.

"These last two lines, 'So give up while watching the sunset glow, we are the dead.' What does that sound like?" He thinks for a minute before answering.

"Poetry, maybe a story?" She nods and stands, pushing the rollie(for lack of a better word shrug) chair out of the way before searching through the small bookcase she keeps next to her desk. Mulder just watches her, not wanting to break her concentration. Finally she pulls out a book and sits back down and flips through it.

"Not so Famous Poetry by Not so Famous Poets?" Mulder asks, reading the title, she pauses to glare at him before continuing.

"Got it." She finally states, before turning the book around and showing Mulder the page that she opened. He takes it from her.

"In 'Flanders Fields' by John McCrae?" She nods, "Read the second verse." His eyes move down the page.

"We are the dead. Short days ago we lived, felt dawn and saw sunset glow, loved and were loved, and now we lie in Flanders fields." His eyebrows furrowing, Mulder read down, finishing the poem.

"It must be a clue, but why would he leave clues. Does he want us to find her?" Scully thinks for a minute, crossing her arms over her chest.

"Maybe he does, or maybe he's taunting us." He nods, sitting back in the chair, holding the book in front of him. Grabbing the photo, he stares at, then the poem. Scully watches her partner do this for a few minutes until he finally speaks up without looking at her.

"This poem, Flanders Fields, and there's a picture of field on the postcard." She walks around behind him to look between the two.

"Their clues . . . and the picture is of a field at sunset."

"Felt dawn and saw sunset glow." After he finished her thought, she looked up to him.

"Is he leading us to her?" Mulder sighs, scratching his chin.

"If this is a game to him, he's winning."

TBC . . .


End file.
